


All the Best Crimes Happen in London

by violasarecool



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Also known as, Doctor Who ending, Doctor Who's not so happy anymore..., EVERYONE'S OK IN THE END, Gen, Happy Ending, I swear, no, uhhh, wait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violasarecool/pseuds/violasarecool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What the hell is that?” Natasha breathed.<br/>A creak, like a door opening, and footsteps. John turned. “That,” said a man stepping out of what appeared to be a faded blue police box, “is a Cyberman.”<br/>“A what?” John asked.<br/>“Cybernetically augmented human,” he explained, pulling at the red bow tie around his neck.<br/>“Who are you?” Tony demanded.<br/>“Me? Oh, sorry, that's right. I'm the Doctor.”</p><p>A threesome of a crossover. Sherlock and John may have encountered many cases in their time, but they've never lived in the whoavengelock universe before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Baker Street is Certainly Looking Irregular

**Author's Note:**

> All chapter titles are references to or direct quotes from one of the three fandoms. Bonus points if you guess which!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the first chapter of a whoavengelock mash. The setting is more Sherlock-world, the style of opposition is more Doctor Who, and the Avengers... well, they're used to some pretty crazy stuff, so they just tag along for the ride. And, you know, to help save the world. Because that's what people do (or, at least, good people).

“Hello?”  


“John?”  


“Yes?”  


“Is Sherlock in? There's been a bit of... trouble, at the Yard.”  


“Erm, I think so.” He held the phone away from his mouth. “Sherlock?” he called.  


“Busy,” came the irritated reply.  


“It's Lestrade.”  


A sigh, and the scraping of a chair. “It'd better be a nine or ten.”  


“Could be...” John put the phone back to his ear.  


“Listen, John,” Lestrade was saying, “just tell Sherlock to get over here. I've got to go.”  


“Alright, I'll try. Bye.” He hung up the phone, though not before he swore he heard a loud crash.

Fifteen minutes later, Sherlock strode out of the apartment, muttering. If it was a seven, he was walking back out of the office without waiting for the rest of the explanation. _Even for a nine,_ he thought, _this had better be worth my time.  
_

When he hopped out of the cab, and entered the yard, it was already more chaotic than he had expected.  


“Sherlock!” Donovan came hurrying toward him. "Lestrade's in his office. Still, I'd be surprised if even you could figure this one out.”  


Sherlock snorted. “Unless you're asking me to find Anderson's brain, I think I'll manage.”  


Donovan rolled her eyes, but left him alone.  


As he walked, he noted patterns in the chaos. Workers from the far end, by Lestrade's office, were running out the door, and those from the near end were hurrying to find the source of the disturbance. There were desks and chairs missing, and most of the offices were empty, though he thought he saw something huge and bulky moving in one. Almost like a rhinoceros standing upright, but that was ridiculous.  


He pushed into Lestrade's office, and stopped.  


The man standing at the window was tall, with a long dark coat, dark skin.  


“Who the hell are you,” the man asked without turning around, “and what are you doing in—” He stopped, and glanced at Sherlock over his shoulder.  


“Seeing as I no longer appear to be in my office, would you care to inform me as to where I am?”  


Sherlock frowned trying to remember the name of the character in one of John's old comic books. Either he was a deranged fan in costume, or...  


“Good afternoon, Nick Fury.”

* * *

John glanced at his watch impatiently. Sherlock had either lost interest and wandered off, or he had chosen to investigate whatever it was on his own. Neither option made him terribly happy. He stood up with a sigh, grabbed his cane, and walked downstairs.  


“I'm going for a walk, Mrs. Hudson, I'll be back in a bit,” he called, and closed the front door behind him without waiting for a reply.  


It was quiet outside, and it should have been peaceful, but his nerves were on edge. Maybe it was just Sherlock's abrupt departure that made him uneasy, but he swore it was almost too quiet. He looked around the empty street, trying to imagine what Sherlock would deduce. Why would no one be on the streets in the middle of the day? Danger, the soldier in him said. There could be other factors, he tried to convince himself, when a dead pigeon hit the concrete with an arrow in its back. He rolled behind a parked car, cursing. Danger indeed. Someone with excellent aim, on high ground, and... arrows?  


“What the hell's going on?” A man's voice drifted down from above.  


“If I knew, I wouldn't still be watching you shoot pigeons.” A woman's voice, much closer. John pressed himself against the side of the cat.  


“Yeah, well, he has the right idea. This place is boring.” Another male voice. Americans? John heard what sounded like a small rocket landing. He shifted onto his stomach, and peered under the car. Three pairs of feet, and... Red shiny metal. Also shaped like feet.  


“Hey, Steve, Hawkeye seems to think there's some guy watching us behind that car.”  


Before John had time to react, a huge hand lifted him off his feet.  


“Hello.” A large blonde man set him down, and John stared.  


“No,” he muttered, staring at the man's starred torso.  


“Uh, hi,” he said, “I'm Steve.”  


John shook his head. “You're not real.”  


The woman narrowed her eyes in confusion. “Of course we are.”  


“But I've read about you,” John laughed weakly.  


There was a whirring sound behind him as the man in the red armour stepped closer. “Of course you've read about us. We're the world's best team of superheroes no one wants anything to do with.”  


“Tony.” One of the other men shot a frown at the other over his glasses.  


“In comic books,” John added, frowning at them.  


“Wow, didn't know we had a franchise,” Tony said. “Gotta update my résumé.”  


“You have a résumé?” the other man asked.  


Tony grinned. “Just in case I really piss Fury off.”  


“You're the Avengers?” John asked in disbelief.  


“Yup,” Tony replied cheerfully. “I'm Tony, this is Natasha, Bruce, Steve, Clint's on the roof, and Thor—” A huge man in a red cloak hit the ground behind him, and grinned at John. “—is right there.”  


“Let's just pretend I believe you,” John said, trying to ignore the fact that 'Thor' could fly. “What are you doing here?”  


Tony shrugged. “Damned if I know. One minute we were in New York, now we're here.”  


Bruce raised his hand. “Sorry to interrupt, but has anyone seen Clint?”  


“He's up on his perch,” Tony replied dismissively.  


“Yeah, well I haven't had a snarky comment from him in three minutes, and the connection seems to be malfunctioning,” Natasha replied tersely. “Up you go, Iron man.”  


Thor raised his giant hammer. “I will go also,” he said, and flung himself into the air with the force of his swing.  


Bruce growled, and Natasha patted his arm. “Stay with us, big boy.”  


Steve glanced at John. “Nice meeting you, I guess, but we should go.”  


“I'm coming with you,” he decided. “My friend's the smartest man in the country, at least. He can probably help you.”  


“Alright,” Steve shrugged. “Hope you can run fast.”  


John nodded. “Military,” he said by way of explanation, and followed.  


After twenty minutes, they found nothing, no trace indicating that the archer had ever been there.  


“Perhaps the force that brought our company here has returned him,” Thor boomed.  


“How do we know that?” Natasha asked in frustration.  


“Sherlock would know,” John murmured, tracing the street with his eyes.  


“You mentioned him before,” Steve commented. “Can you take us to him? It might be helpful.”  


Tony's visor came up, and he rolled his eyes. “Isn't one genius enough in this group?”  


“Grow up,” Natasha snapped. “We need to find Clint.”  


“He can take care of himself, Nat, stop worrying.”  


“You should heed the fair warrior,” Thor said. “We are dealing with unknown forces.”  


“Fine,” Tony grumbled,” but when Clint gets his ass back here, he'd better have a good reason ready.”  


Steve nodded tensely. “Lead on, then.”  


John beckoned. “This way, I guess. I usually would take a cab this far, but,” he shrugged, “I'm not sure they'd take you.”  


They walked quickly down the quiet street.  


“Is there usually no one around?” Natasha asked, eyeing the empty road distrustfully.  


“Um, no, actually, it's probably busier than New York most days.”  


“I doubt that,” Bruce murmured, and Tony chuckled.  


John stopped. “Listen.” They fell silent.  


“I hear nothing.” Thor gripped his hammer more tightly.  


“Actually, yeah, over there,” Tony said, and started to run toward a narrow alley, the others on his heels. John followed more cautiously, wishing for the firm reassurance of his pistol.  


“No!” There was a loud clang, and a smash.  


“Alright, Natasha?” Bruce asked as John rounded the corner.  


“Yeah, but it's not. Is it just me, or did the thing speak?”  


John stumbled toward them, trying to control his limp.  


“I think it said 'you will be deleted',” Steve said quietly.  


“Hey, don't look at me,” Tony exclaimed. “I didn't make any AIs like that.”  


John squeezed into the group, and stopped. Tony was bent over a large, humanoid, silver... robot.  


“And I would never,” he added, prying at the face-plate, “make it—” he paused, and set the plate down.  


“What?” Bruce peered over Tony's shoulder.  


Steve covered his mouth. “Oh, God.”  


“What the hell is that?” Natasha breathed.  


A creak, like a door opening, and footsteps. John turned. “That,” said a man stepping out of what appeared to be a faded blue police box, “is a Cyberman.”  


“A what?” John asked.  


“Cybernetically augmented human,” he explained, pulling at the red bow tie around his neck.  


“Who are you?” Tony demanded.  


“Me? Oh, sorry, that's right. I'm the Doctor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hello to the Doctor :)


	2. At Least It's Not a Bilgesnipe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilgesnipe: that creature that Phil Coulson didn't blink at, because he's seen a whole ton of stuff with the Avengers, and, you never know, one may have turned up one time.
> 
> No Bilgesnipes here, but there certainly is a whole ton of new, very interesting stuff turning up for those of the Avengers and Sherlock universe. Like time travel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Nick Fury. He's really an underappreciated character, putting up with all this Avengers crap all the time X)

Sherlock paced the small office. “You've never encountered this before?”  


“Appearing in another country? Hell, no. I try to leave the weird shit to my agents.”  


Sherlock looked him up and down. “Considering you come from a place where superheroes exist, do aliens?”  


“Thor and Loki seem living proof of _something_ like that.”  


“Thor and Loki?”  


“Norse gods. Pretty damn powerful ones, too.”  


“Do they have the power to move something instantaneously without touching it or being anywhere in the immediate vicinity?”  


“No. Not as far as I know.”  


“Then forget them for the moment.” Sherlock traced the desk with his finger. “You saw no one when you... appeared, in this room?”  


“The room was empty.”  


“Ah.” There was a loud thump outside the tiny windows, and Sherlock straightened. “Do you know anything about the other things appearing in Scotland Yard?”  


“I have no idea. Shall we take a look?” He pulled a large gun out of its holster.  


“We seem to be done here,” Sherlock acknowledged, and opened the door.  


In the hall, people were running toward the exit, some carrying books, most, empty-handed. Anderson sprinted down the hall.  


“General evacuation, get out!” he shouted as he ran by.  


Fury raised his gun as a gigantic wasp flew at them. “Fucking supervillains,” he muttered, taking it down with a blast of energy. “Think they can unleash whatever the hell they want.”  


Sherlock beckoned Fury down the hall. “Unless you really feel the need to kill more of these creatures, I'd appreciate it if you came this way. If they're just appearing out of thin air, they're going to keep appearing whether you shoot them or not.”  


“Smartass,” Fury muttered, but followed.  


They left the building with a few final workers, and Donovan locked the front doors behind them. “I've set the building alarms, and—” the siren started to sound, “hopefully the security measures will keep them in there a while,” she yelled above the din. “Have you phoned your brother?” she asked Sherlock, as they backed further away from the building.  


“No.”  


“For God's sake, Sherlock phone him! We need the military over here, now!”  


“I've no doubt he is already aware of the situation.”  


Anderson ran up to them. “Where's Inspector Lestrade?”  


“I don't—”  


“I believe he may have been taken to wherever Nick Fury came from,” Sherlock interrupted smoothly.  


“Which is where?” Anderson looked from Sherlock to Fury. “What's going on?”  


“Don't think too hard, Anderson, you'll only hurt yourself.”  


“Sherlock!” Anderson and Donovan yelled.  


“Stop bickering,” Fury said, fingering his gun. “You'd think I was still back at SHIELD.”  


“Not very nice!” A voice came down from above them, and Fury craned his neck.  


“Get your ass down here, Barton!”  


“I'm hurt, Fury, I thought I we were your favourite children.” Clint Barton leapt down next to them, bow in hand.  


“Not to worry, Barton, you're still the most immature agent I've had the misfortune to come across. Even Stark can actually do something of use, now and then.”  


“Thank you, sir!” Clint saluted, then sidestepped a blow from Fury.  


“Watch it, Barton, or you're packing your bags.”  


Sherlock looked back at the archer. “Tell your friend on the roof we can see him.”  


“Damn it!” A man in a long grey coat suddenly appeared beside Sherlock. “You've got good eyes.”  


Sherlock grabbed his wrist, and turned it over to reveal the face of a metal band.  


“Woah there, tiger,” the man said with a sly grin.  


Sherlock ignored him. “This is how you transported yourself?” he asked.  


“Yes, sir! Captain Jack Harkness, time traveller extraordinaire. Gotta love a vortex manipulator.”  


“Could this be how the others appeared here?” He examined the seams, the buttons.  


“No way. I wish I had one of those things,” Clint interrupted.  


“Like hell you do,” Jack winked.  


Sherlock flicked at the side of the wrist-band.  


“Hey, tiger, leave that on, I need it.”  


“Sherlock Holmes,” he replied and pried it from Jack's hands.  


“Hey!” he exclaimed, as Sherlock disappeared, then reappeared.  


“Fascinating,” he muttered. “Did you realize that even moving through matter also affects the time sequence?”  


“Yeah, well,” Jack said, attempting to grab it back from Sherlock, “just don't mess with your own timeline too much, or you'll end up like me. Can I have that back now?”  


Sherlock grasped Jack's arm, and they disappeared.  


“Um, what's going on?” Anderson asked again, but no one answered, and when a column of fire rose up from the roof of Scotland Yard, he ran back toward the building, closely followed by Donovan.  


“What the hell, Harkness!” Clint yelled.  


Fury rolled his eyes, and shouldered his gun. “Why do I have to deal with you, of all people?” he asked no one in particular. “It almost looked like it was going to be a good day.”

* * *

“So when you say 'Cyberman', you mean that used to be human?”  


The Doctor glanced up from the inert metal body. “Yes. They assimilate humans to make more of themselves. Lacking any, erm, reproductive organs.”  


John crouched beside the Doctor. “Are you really a doctor? You don't just have some obscure degree?” he asked.  


“Cheese-making,” he muttered.  


“Sorry?”  


“Yes, I’m a doctor, but I don't really practise anymore.”  


“Ah. I understand.”  


The Doctor nodded. “JYou would. John Watson, the army doctor. You'd get on with Rory, I think.”  


Confused, and a little irritated, John decided to ignore this comment. He glanced at the Avengers, who were huddled in a group, talking. “Just 'the Doctor'?” he asked sceptically.  


“Yup.” The Doctor twirled what looked like a glowing screwdriver between his fingers.  


“What's that?” John asked.  


“That's my sonic screwdriver. I don't use weapons like them—” he jerked his head at the Avengers, “but it does open doors pretty well.” He considered it intently. “Most of the time.”  


John stared at the cracked paving.  


Behind them, the Avengers had stopped talking.  


“What's the plan, buckos?” the Doctor asked, clapping his hands together.  


Tony snapped his fingers. “That's it!” he exclaimed, and everyone stared at him. “What?” he asked.  


“What's what?” Natasha asked impatiently.  


Tony pointed at the Doctor. “You look like you're twenty, and act like you're five, that's why it took me so long. But I think you're older than that.”  


“Ye-es,” the Doctor said, playing with his bow tie.  


“You look like Cap,” Tony announced.  


“Captain America?” The Doctor measured himself up against Steve. “Nah, he's much bigger than me. And blonde.”  


“Not like that.” Tony waved his hands dismissively. “He has that look on his face. He looks... Well, he looks a little lost. Tired. Like you.”  


Steve shot him an amused glance. “I didn't realize you paid attention to other people.”  


“You,” Tony pointed a finger at Steve, “shut up. I'm still very egotistical.”  


Steve shook his head. “So, how old are you, then, Doctor?”  


“Mm, nine hundred years old.”  


John choked on his own saliva. “What?” he exclaimed.  


“Give or take a few years,” the Doctor replied modestly.  


“He wins,” said Tony, nudging Steve in the side.  


“Anyway...” the Doctor said, drawing out the final syllable, “what about this Barton fellow?”  


“Barton,” Natasha said briskly, “is an idiot, and when he gets back, I will kill him.”  


“That would sort of defeat the purpose of looking for him,” Bruce commented.  


“Ri-ight,” the Doctor said, looking around. “Where are we? Actually, better question: when are we?”  


John snorted. “So first, we have a team of comic book characters, now a man who shows up in a police box, claims to be over nine-hundred years old, and doesn't know where he is. Next, you're going to tell us the reason you don't know the time is that you're a time-traveller, or something.”  


“Actually, the year would be nice.”  


“London, 2011,” Steve said.  


“Do you really travel in time?”  


"You bet I do! Just me and my Tardis." He paused. "And sometimes other people, too," he added absently.  


“Could we use it to find Clint?” Bruce asked.  


“I don't see why not,” the Doctor replied, “though she can sometimes be a little inaccurate.” He craned his neck over the group, and his face fell. He pushed through them, and waved his sonic screwdriver around the area where the Tardis had been. The pulsating light filled the darkness with dancing, green-tinted shadows.  


“Change of plans, folks,” he finally said. “We may have to search on foot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm a mad man with a box, without a box!"


	3. Canines Are Cool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's the shortest chapter so far... Not to worry; after this, content doubles, then quadruples ;)

Clint fired another arrow into the broad back of what seemed to be a Minotaur. “This is insane! I've never seen so many different monsters in one place before.” As he thrust a knife into the beast's neck, he felt an absurd urge to say 'praise him'.  


“Enjoying yourself, Barton?” Fury bellowed over the clamour, as he fired three shots into the stomach of a huge green something that looked like it came from a 50s thriller.  


“More than you, I see!” He leapt over a fallen insect creature, and scooped up a small anthropomorphic cat. “What the hell? It's like a human kitten.” The thing meowed at him, and he sighed. “Of course I can't leave it here,” he muttered, and sprinted back to the group huddling under the shelter of a first-floor coffee shop. “Here,” he said, and thrust it at Donovan.  


He ran back toward the building, or rather, what was quickly turning into a pile of rubble and writhing bodies, when, suddenly, it all disappeared. Structure, monsters, everything. Only rubble covered the scarred ground.  


“Shit.” He stood still a moment, unsure of what to do. He turned to look back at the evacuated workers, who seemed to be mostly still there. Donovan was still holding the cat-thing, and it was playing with her hair.  


Time to disappear.

Fifteen minutes later, he'd run into more anthropomorphic cats, the smashed remains of an angel statue, and a robot, AI-enabled dog that smacked of Stark.  


And wouldn't leave him alone.

“Where are we going?” it asked him again.  


“I, not we. You are a robot dog. I'm talking to a robot dog.” He gritted his teeth. “Look, dog-thing, I've got to find the rest of my group, so go back to wherever you came from.”  


“I cannot. I do not have the ability. I am alone.”  


Clint resisted the urge to put an arrow in its side. “Don't guilt me, dog. I'm just going to go get up on the roof now, and I don't think you can really climb.”  


“K9.”  


He sighed. “What?”  


“K9. That is my name. K9.”  


“Alright, Canine, you have a really unoriginal name.” He disassembled and reassembled his bow as he walked. “Fine,” he snapped. “Come if you must. I've got no one else to talk to.”

* * *

“Ok,” the Doctor was saying, “let's-"  


“Where's Thor?” Steve asked suddenly.  


“For God's... Why doesn't anyone stay close anymore?” Tony complained. “It makes it a lot harder to kick ass if we waste time looking for lost puppies.”  


“Thor's not exactly a lost puppy,” John laughed.  


“No, he's a deified puppy who likes to fly off places on his own,” Natasha said. “But the Avengers' rule number one is don't go off on your own.”  


“That's rule one?” Bruce asked.  


“My favourite rule,” Tony added sarcastically.  


“That's why it's rule number one,” Steve muttered.  


“Don't wander off, I say. And what do they do? Wander off!” the Doctor said, and the group looked at him curiously.  


“What?” Natasha asked.  


“They?” Steve asked.  


“People, please,” John interrupted.  


“Alright.” Steve spoke up. “Thor was standing at the back of the group, yes? By the road?”  


Nods.  


Tony groaned. “I see where you're going with this. Either he just happened to wander off at the same time as the Tardis disappeared, or they both disappeared by the same magical force that brought us here.”  


“Or,” John added, “he left in the Tardis.”  


Natasha laughed. “Thor has trouble toasting bread. Let's not jump to irrational conclusions.”  


“People have been disappearing?” the Doctor asked. “I mean, the Tardis has been known to wander off. But people have actually been disappearing?”  


“Sorry, how exactly does a police box wander off?” John asked, but no one replied.  


“Clint disappeared earlier,” Bruce volunteered. “And we disappeared from New York, and turned up here.”  


“Anyone seen a crack recently?” the Doctor asked. “In the wall, ground, air?” Everyone stared. “Erm, never mind, then.” He pulled his sonic screwdriver back out of his pocket, and twisted it so that the head sprang out. He held it up, and twisted around to face the road. “Hm. Well,” he said, turning back to face them. “I need to find my Tardis, and if there's a chance that it only took off instead of being eaten, that would be... excellent.”  


“Eaten?” John asked, but it did not entirely surprise him that no one answered.  


“So.” The Doctor rubbed his hands together. “Anyone coming with me?”  


“Um, no, we are not chasing a self-piloting police box,” Tony said. “We have our own people to look after, things to do, people to find—”  


Bruce raised his hand. “Uh, Tony? I'm with the guy with the spaceship.”  


“More of a space-time ship,” the Doctor muttered.  


Steve also raised his hand. “We should stick together.”  


Natasha nodded, and raised her hand, and Tony sighed. “That makes it you and me, kid,” he said, looking at John. “Tell me I'm not the only one who thinks we can manage on our own.”  


John stared at him. “First, I am definitely older than you. Secondly, I don't really think like any of this, but thirdly, that doesn't mean I'm going off on my own somewhere when a Norse god and a spaceship can disappear without trace.”  


“Space-time.”  


“Looks like you're stuck with us, Tony!” Steve said cheerfully.  


“Damn.”  


“Shut up, Stark,” Natasha said, “you can't wriggle out of this one.”  


“Damn,” he repeated.  


“So, where's a 1960s police box most likely to pilot itself to?” Bruce asked.  


“Well, if it hasn't been eaten by a crack in the universe, or anything of the like,” the Doctor mused, “it'll probably have gone off to help out some people in trouble, or something.”  


“Yeah, well, it's not joining SHIELD for its efforts,” Tony muttered.  


“Will you shut up!” Natasha exclaimed, giving him a smack.  


“Natasha, please.” Steve held up a hand. “That's what we should be doing, anyway.”  


“Hitting Stark? Kinky.”  


Steve ignored her. “If we don't find the Doctor's police box,” he continued, “we can at least help the people who are left.”  


“Out of a hole that one's digging,” Tony muttered.  


“If you don't stop whining, I'll give you a real headshot,” Natasha threatened, fingering one of her handguns.  


Tony's flight-stabilizers lit up.  


“Woah, woah, settle down,” the Doctor said, raising his hands.  


“Could we please concentrate?” Steve asked, and the group turned toward him. “Missing team mates and Tardis? We've been standing here talking for almost half an hour. Let's go,” he said briskly.  


John waited until the rest of the group had begun to move, then followed. _What have we gotten into this time, Sherlock?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Warning: Anne points out unecessary details]  
> Remember the first paragraph? "Praise him". Clint's dependence on someone he believes in above all may be up for debate, but I think it works at least within movie canon. You know, Natasha? They're a pretty good team, at least.


	4. Is This How Time Normally Passes?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when Captain Jack Harkness meets Sherlock Holmes? The usual, for Sherlock, but not exactly so for Jack. What happens when Tony creates another bizarre experiment? No, he doesn't throw off the entire space-time continuum; that's a little ambitious even for him. What happens when I stop asking plot-based questions, and let K9 continue to irritate Clint? Well, I mean, I hope you read on, but... oh, just get to it.

Sherlock brushed off his coat, and looked around at the grassy land. Behind him, Jack moaned, and stretched an arm in the air.  


“Sherlock Holmes, you idiot, you broke my wrist strap and stranded us god-knows-where or when.”  


“Cardiff.”  


“What?”  


“We're in Cardiff,” he repeated impatiently, “keep up.”  


“When?”  


“Hopefully no more than a few hours later,” he replied, gesturing to the darkening sky. He paused, and turned.  


“Why aren't you dead?”  


“Cheery way to greet a fellow,” Jack complained, getting to his feet. “I can't die. Not by any normal way I'm aware of,” he added.  


“That would explain your landing head-first and not breaking your neck.”  


“Is that what happened? I'm never conscious of how exactly I narrowly miss death. And,” he peered at the square castle perched on a small hill, “how do you know we're in Cardiff?” he asked. “Could be Scotland.”  


“Cardiff castle.”  


“Yeah, I can't see much detail in this light.” He dropped the broken wrist strap into his pocket forlornly. “What happened to that guy who hitched a ride with me the first time?”  


“Who?”  


“Robin Hood.”  


“Clint Barton, archer? Don't know.”  


“He kind of just... appeared. While I was dematerializing. I'm surprised he wasn't killed.” He looked at Sherlock. “The thing's not built to carry more than one person, you know.”  


Sherlock glanced at him. “It was only an experiment. You're alive, aren't you?”  


“I always am,” he grumbled. “I'm more worried about being trapped underwater, and, you know, dying hundreds of times until I finally get free.”  


“Is that how it works?” He stepped closer, and probed Jack's neck with slender fingers. “No major damage, only light bruising. What happens if you lose a limb?”  


“Dunno, never had one completely severed,” Jack replied. “I'm just an anomaly no one has figured out, yet,” he said with a wry smile.  


“Don't count on that lasting,” Sherlock replied. “I'm very good at solving difficult problems. The more difficult, the better.” He turned, and started walking down the riverbank.  


Jack hurried after him. “Where're we going?”  


“Back to London seems appropriate.”  


“Are you planning on walking across half the country?”  


“Don't be absurd. I'll make a call.”  


“Who to?”  


“Someone who owes me a little something. Besides, I've no doubt he's interested as to what's happening in London, and interested in its prevention.”  


“We're not in London.”  


“Exactly. He's not about to drive all the way there himself, and security cameras only do so much.”  


Jack paused. “If this man has enough security cameras to see even half of what's going on in London, that's a hell of a lot of cameras. Who is he?”  


“You might say he's the British government.”  


“You might say the Doctor's the same to the universe,” Jack replied, unimpressed.  


“You're saying this 'Doctor' is some sort of cosmic police man,” Sherlock said sarcastically.  


“Well, he's got the police box and the sexy police-woman sidekick.”  


“And you're his immortal lapdog, I presume?”  


Jack laughed. “Pretty accurate.”  


“You are an interesting anomaly, Captain Jack Harkness.”  


“Thanks, I guess.” Jack narrowed his eyes at Sherlock, puzzled. “Normally, I'd take that as flirting, but on the whole, I'd say not.”  


“Good deduction.”  


“Still not too bad looking,” he attempted.  


“Thank you, no.”  


“Fine, fine.” Jack considered him. “Who are you, then? What are you?”  


“I'm a consulting detective.”  


“There's no such thing.”  


“I invented my title. Is 'time traveller' a job?”  


“If you're sexy enough,” he smirked.  


Sherlock ignored him. “The police come to me when they're out of their depth, which is always. I take unique cases.”  


“Am I a unique case?”  


“In the actual sense of the word. I find it unlikely that there are many immortals on earth.”  


That was when Thor asked the Tardis to stop.

* * *

Tony flew back down to meet the group as they turned onto Baker street. “There's no one on the street. No Godzilla, no rampaging Fury looking to get our asses back to headquarters. Nada. Zilch.” He flipped up his visor. “Where are we going?”  


“Wherever the most noise is coming from,” the Doctor replied.  


John glanced at the red Speedy's sign they were approaching. “Um,” he ventured, “could we maybe stop for a minute?”  


Bruce turned. “Why?”  


“My flat.” He pointed to 221B. “Sherlock might be back.”  


“Alright, go find your buddy.” Tony waved him away. “You all stay here; I'm going up.”  


Natasha stepped forward. “Take me to the roof, Stark.”  


“Yes, my lady,” Tony replied with a wink, offering her his arm.  


“No more than ten minutes before reporting back!” Steve shouted as they flew up. “That's an order!”  


“Yes, Cap'n!” Tony did a half salute, letting Natasha slip in the process.  


“Stark, you idiot!” they heard her hiss, as she tightened her grip, and they flew out of sight.  


John opened the front door, and ventured inside, the Doctor on his heels. Outside, Steve stood watching the street, Bruce speaking to him in a low voice.  


“Sherlock?” John slowly climbed the stairs. He pushed the door open, and edged inside. It was far too quiet.  


“Who plays the violin?” the Doctor asked, pointing to the Stradivarius on Sherlock's chair.  


“Sherlock,” he replied absently, mind racing. The instrument hadn't moved a centimetre; Sherlock hadn't been back, then. “Mrs. Hudson?” he called. He looked into the kitchen, and his breath froze in his throat. He vaguely heard the Doctor say something, but he ignored him, and strode forward. “Mrs. Hudson.”  


She stood facing the counter, one hand outstretched. He ran through symptoms in his head, but as he reached her side, he stopped. She was still, far too still, as if frozen in a block of ice.  


The Doctor followed, and laid a hand on his shoulder.  


Frozen in time.  


“There's nothing you can do.”  


“What's wrong with her?” he demanded.  


The Doctor grimaced. “Time influx. There seems to be spikes of matter hitting the city, changing and redistributing time. I'd say...” he lit up his sonic screwdriver, examining the old lady, “it's a rip, a rip in time. That's why people are disappearing, that's why there's no one on the streets. Time is being stretched and squished like rubber because something threw a wrench in the works. Doesn't have to be anything huge, butterfly effect, if you will, but now time and space are seeping into all the wrong places.” He clicked the screwdriver again, and walked out of the kitchen. “Always London,” he muttered.  


“Will she be alright?” John hurried after him down the stairs and onto the street.  


“Yes... If she doesn't disappear. I mean, she's not likely to,” he said, patting John's shoulder in what he was sure was meant to be a reassuring manner, but only worried him more. “Right,” he said, clapping his heads, and Steve and Bruce turned. “Change of plans, another change of plans, plans have to be flexible, you know. There's a rip in the fabric of time, isn't that always fun. We need to find the centre.”  


“Then what?” Bruce asked.  


“Then, I'll try and figure out what we're doing next.”  


“That's reassuring,” John muttered.  


“Has anyone been inside, recently? In a shop, a flat, anywhere?”  


“No, actually,” Steve replied.  


“Right, right. Well, just because there's no one around here, doesn't mean that there's no one here.” He dug in his pocket, and pulled out a little blue book. “Yes... No... Yes, that's right.” John tapped him on the shoulder. “What is it?” he asked absently.  


“Doctor.”  


He looked up. “What?”  


John pointed down the street. “It's just that there's usually a building there.”  


“Excellent!” He ran toward a gap in the wall of grey buildings. “Disappearing buildings, love it when they do that.” He examined the dirt with his sonic screwdriver. “Even took the foundations. So, where did it go?”  


Bruce pulled out his phone.  


“You have wi-fi?” John asked.  


“Satellite,” Bruce answered, tapping at the screen, “but it's been coming and going over the last few hours. Look at this,” he said, and handed the phone to the Doctor, who screwed up his eyes at the tiny screen.  


“Three flat buildings, five hundred and twenty-six people, and all of Scotland Yard appeared in New York at the foot of the Stark tower.” He looked up. “Direct link; it's not just chance that you appeared here.”  


“But the tower didn't come with us,” Steve tried to reason.  


“People must have disappeared individually, too,” Bruce reminded him. “And how much do you want to bet that Tony was doing an experiment at the time?”  


Steve shook his head. “Tony wouldn't endanger the team like that.”  


The Doctor raised a hand. “Steve, Bruce? Unless Tony can change the shape of time and space like playdough, he couldn't have caused this. At least, not by himself.” There was a loud crash, followed by what sounded like a small explosion. “But I bet whatever made that noise has something to do with it!” He started running down the street.  


“Unless Tony pissed Natasha off, and she shoved him into a gas pump,” Bruce muttered.

* * *

Clint stopped running, and waited for the robotic dog to catch up. “I swear, when we get back to New York, I'm making Tony give you and me jet propulsors.”  


“The Doctor did not think it wise,” K9 replied.  


“Who is this doctor guy, anyway? Tony wouldn't let shrinks anywhere near him.”  


“He is the Doctor. He is the last Time Lord.”  


“And what the hell is a Time Lord?”  


“He is the last, born of Gallifrey.”  


“Right, whatever. So Tony picked up some lunatic who told him how to make his shit?”  


“Sir created me with the Doctor.”  


Clint scratched his chin. “He did not. He would never collaborate.”  


“Sir created me with the Doctor,” K9 repeated.  


“Alright, alright, I heard you the first time!” He started as he heard the sound of metal on concrete. “Stark?” He raised his bow cautiously, then fired a warning shot against the sidewalk.  


A pigeon took to the air, a bottle cap clenched in its beak.  


He sighed. “I'm going crazy. Stark-raving mad.”  


“Scan has been performed. Your mind is fully functional.”  


Clint rolled his eyes. “It was a pun. Stark? Get it? It's supposed to be funny.”  


“Stark would be ashamed,” came a voice in his ear, and he nearly dropped his bow.  


“Holy shit!” He fumbled for the ear-piece.  


“Nice to hear from you too, Barton,” Coulson replied dryly.  


“I lost the connection when we disappeared. I didn't think—”  


“I only just managed to pick up the connection again,” Coulson interrupted briskly. “I reset the target for London, which seemed to strengthen the connection.”  


“I know you're a fucking genius-”.  


“Thank you, Barton.”  


“Nope, not a compliment, just the truth, sir.”  


“Stark would disagree.”  


“Well, duh, his ego's the size of his tower. But how the hell did you know we were in London?”  


“I got lucky,” he replied. “Within thirty seconds of all hell breaking loose in New York, we managed to locate a man who wasn't out of his mind with panic, a certain Greg Lestrade. After he'd finished cursing, and promising to sell a man by the name of Sherlock Holmes into slavery—”  


“Yeah, I met him, he was a bit of a dick,” Clint laughed.  


“—he told us what was happening in London, and I concentrated the signal on the area he had disappeared from. As it was, I only just managed to pick up the signal.”  


“Well, thanks, Coulson, I'm glad to hear a human voice.”  


“Mine is not sufficient?” K9 asked, in what could have been a hurt tone, if it wasn't, you know, a robot dog.  


“Sorry, man, er, dog, I like talking to actual people.”  


“Are you talking to yourself, Barton? Do I need to schedule extra medical when you return?”  


“No, no,” he answered hastily, “please, no. There's a robot dog following me. Doing a good job of slowing me down, too.”  


“Picking up strays?” Coulson asked, his voice tinged with amusement.  


“Always, sir,” Clint replied cheerfully.  


“What are your coordinates?” Coulson asked.  


He looked at the fourth street of generic grey buildings he'd passed. “I've no fucking idea. Can't you, ya know, track me?”  


“Equipment's failing,” Coulson replied, and Clint grinned, imagining his frustration. “Something's blocking the transmissions.”  


“Time to upgrade,” Clint joked, but inwardly, he was starting to worry. “What now?” he asked.  


Coulson's breathing, just audible in his ear, quickened. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “I'm losing you—” His voice started to crackle.  


“No, no, no!” Clint panicked. “Fuck you, Coulson, stay here!”  


“I... Find the... Fifty minutes... Stark...” Coulson's voice spewed out in fragments. “Equipment's failing... Coordinates... Extra medical...”  


“Coulson!”  


“Sherlock.. Lond... Sta...” The crackle fizzled away to nothing.  


The silence pressed on his ears. “Dammit. Fucking shit. Lost the damn connection. Fuck.”  


K9 swivelled its ears toward Clint. “It appears that a time wave interfered with the signal. The influx of alien time-matter caused the conversation to reverse itself.”  


“What? I'm not going to pretend I understood what you just said. I just lost the signal, and Coulson likes to reiterate. He'll pick it back up again, you'll see.”  


He wasn't sure who he was reassuring, K9, or himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> K9 is not impressed, Clint.
> 
> Or amused, but that's Vic's line. (Good Old Bess... was she ever Good Old Vic?)


	5. The Game Continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter and all proceeding chapters contain some serious spoilers (of a sort) for Doctor Who Pandorica episodes. You may wish to watch those two episodes before continuing reading, if you haven't already.

There were more crashes as the group ran, the Doctor in the lead, John bringing the group up at the rear. They rounded a corner, and Steve threw himself in front of the group as a motorbike came hurtling toward them; the impact against his shield pushed him back three feet.  


“That,” said the Doctor, “is an ice cream parlour.” He pointed at a square sign sticking out of the top of the building.  


“Used to be, anyway,” John said, watching the front wall tremble under the weight of a red double-decker bus, and collapse. “Guess it was just another building appearing from New York.”  


“We don't have those in New York,” Bruce said, pointing at the bus.  


The Doctor was picking through the debris. “Now everything's just being stirred up. I don't think that there's much call for punting in either London or New York,” he said, pointing out the shallow boat.  


“Vienna?” John asked in disbelief.  


“Maybe, but I think a place like Cambridge is more likely.” He scanned a cash register with his sonic screwdriver. “The area these waves are affecting is getting larger.  


Bruce pulled out his phone. “I can't believe I didn't think of this before,” he muttered. “I'm calling Stark.” They stared at him expectantly as he held the phone to his ear. Finally, he looked at the screen again. “It says the number doesn't exist. That's ridiculous. Of course it exists.”  


The Doctor made a face.  


“What now?” John demanded.  


“It's possible that the time-waves will scramble data like phone-numbers...”  


Bruce turned to John. “Do you have a phone?”  


“Sherlock poured acid on his, so he's borrowing mine...”  


Bruce raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. “Doctor?”  


“In the Tardis.”  


“Ok, let's try e-mail,” he muttered.  


John scanned the sky. “Where are they? It's been a good twenty-five minutes.”  


Steve sat heavily on an overturned rubbish bin, “They keep disappearing, all of them,” he murmured.  


John reached out patted his arm hesitantly. “I'm, erm, sure they'll be back. They seem like capable people.”  


“Yes, but so are our enemies.” Steve considered him. “You're a soldier.” It was a statement, not a question.  


“Yes.”  


“You know how these things go.”  


“I still have nightmares about them,” John admitted.  


Steve nodded. “So do I. But the waking ones are worse, much worse.” He glanced over at where the Doctor was showing Bruce something on his phone, sonic screwdriver in hand. “You understand, then, why we have to stay together. Why I can't lose anyone else.”  


John nodded tiredly, everything catching up to him at once, and sat down on the ground beside him. “I know.” With Sherlock, you see the battlefield.  


“We've faced so much, but nothing like this. You can shoot a supervillain, cut off his backup, out-manoeuvre him. This,” he gestured at the rubble, “is arbitrary. We're being picked off by a force we can't see or fight.”  


John rubbed his bad leg. He had forgotten about it again, but now it hurt him worse than ever. “They'll be back. You appeared here; they might just be back in New York.”  


“Maybe.”  


They sat in silence for a moment.  


“You ever miss the war?” Steve asked.  


“Yes.” John glanced at him. “But I gained more than I lost. I met Sherlock. You missed sixty-five years of history.”  


“And still the war goes on.”  


“And still the war goes on,” John agreed.  


There was a shout, and they both turned. “Yes!” The Doctor threw his fist in the air.  


“What?” John asked.  


“The Doctor amplified the cell phone’s signal with his sonic-screwdriver, and we at least have wi-fi back. We texted Tony from Skype, and he replied to my phone.”  


“How come his phone works, and yours doesn't?” John asked.  


Bruce shrugged. “Stark phone. He's the genius, after all.”  


“So where is he?”

* * *

Clint took out his earpiece for the tenth time, fingers probing the shiny surface. “Come on,” he muttered. He almost thought he had heard his name, but there was still no sound coming from the little earpiece. He was quite surprised, therefore, when he looked up as Natasha barrelled into him.  


“Holy shit!” he yelled. Ok, kind of fucking terrified, actually. “What the—”  


She twisted his arm behind his back, his legs trapped under her.  


“Ow, ow, hey!”  


“If you ever wander off again, Barton,” she hissed, “I'll feed you to the leviathan. Understood?”  


“Yes!” he squeaked, stumbling away as soon as she let go.  


“I see you're still letting Tash make bird-meat out of you,” Tony drawled.  


“Stark! You knew she was coming and didn't warn me?” he whined. “I'm hurt, I thought we had an understanding.”  


“That it's in everyone's best interests to stay the hell out of Natasha's way? Yes we do.” He clapped a hand to Clint's arm. “Sorry, man.”  


There was a beeping sound from behind Clint. “Sir?” K9 rolled toward Tony.  


“What the hell is that?” Tony asked, bending down next to it.  


“K9, sir,” the robot said.  


He started to laugh. “Oh my God. I thought this rust-bucket was gone for good.” He probed the metal surface with his fingers. “I did an awful job on you, didn't I?”  


“I do not believe this is the case.”  


“Of course you don't, buddy,” Tony replied, slapping its metal flank.  


“I thought maybe you could give him jet propellers,” Clint said hopefully.  


Tony pointed a finger at him. “That is a fantastic idea for the next time I get drunk. As it is...” He tipped K9 over, and unscrewed the panel on its underside with his metal finger. “I think if I even...” he ripped out two long wires, and the lights in K9's eyes went out. “Oops,” he muttered. “How about...” His palm began to glow. He flipped his visor back over his face, and the other three backed up as sparks flew.  


“Uh, Stark? Could you save the engineering for another time?” Natasha said. “We've got better things to be doing.”  


Tony clipped the plate back onto K9's underside, and flipped him right-side up. “Come on,” he muttered, and kicked its side.  


The light flared back into K9's eye-panels. “Greetings,” it intoned.  


“Et voila! Keep your pants on, Tash, I was just fixing him up a bit.” He stood up, his visor opened again, and the light from his flight stabilizer dimmed. “Wouldn't want to be slowed down too much by a robot dog.”  


“What did you do? Clint asked.  


“Sped him up a bit. And—” There was a flash of light, and a pigeon flopped down from a nearby lamp post. “—activated the weapons system.”  


“A weapons system.” Natasha raised an eyebrow.  


“Fuck yeah!” Clint grinned.  


“Yeah, pretty damn good for how old he is,” he said immodestly. “When I made K9, it was just an inefficient light. But with a bit of help from the twenty-first century, and the genius of Tony Stark, he's a pretty good shot.”  


“I thought you said he had help,” Clint whispered to the robot dog.  


“Sir was drunk, and remains immodest as ever.”  


Clint burst out laughing. “Can we keep him?”  


“What?” Tony looked over. “We're not leaving him here.”  


“Yes!” He tapped K9 on the head. “I am teaching you to fire arrows, and Tony is giving you jet propulsors.”  


“He doesn't have hands, Clint,” Natasha said.  


“Hey, genius, is a lack of hands going to stop you making this fucker fire arrows?”  


“Nothing can stop Tony Stark, what are you talking about?” There was a beep, and Tony held up a hand. “One minute, my fans need me.” He pulled out a small phone.  


“No Jarvis?” Clint asked.  


“Jarvis appears to have jumped ship.” Tony stared at the screen.  


“What, what?” Clint sidled around to look at the screen. “Get the hell back over here, Stark,” he read, “or Cap's going to go ape-shit on your ass.” He chuckled. “I'd like to see that.”  


Natasha frowned. “Bruce is a little upset.”  


“Cap is a little upset. And if memory serves, I think we told them we'd report back after ten minutes.”  


Clint cringed under Natasha's glare. “Sorry. Is Thor going to pound me into a Hawkeye-shaped mess on the pavement?”  


“Big boy's disappeared,” Tony said, as he sent a message in reply.  


“Thor? Isn't he, like, super-Norse puppy and impossible to get rid of?”  


“Apparently not,” Natasha replied. “Whole buildings are disappearing, so I'm not sure anything's safe.”  


“Time is unravelling,” K9 said.  


“Shut up, K9,” Clint said impatiently, “that's—”  


“Almost exactly what the Doctor said,” Natasha frowned. “How did it know that?”  


“The Doctor is my master.”  


“But I made you,” Tony said.  


“Sir helped the Doctor make me. He is my master.”  


Tony held up a hand. “Ok, thinking,” he said, ignoring Clint's mock-gasp. “I had a couple of beers... you turned up the next day. I had just assumed it was black-out engineering. But...” he pointed at K9, “you disappeared. A week later.”  


“The Doctor took me back.”  


“That kook? No way.”  


“You are not considered normal by society's standards, either, sir.”  


Clint whistled. “Sassy.”  


“I'm the genius here, ok? Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. What would I need from that guy?”  


“A little modesty,” Steve said from behind them, and Tony whipped around.  


““Why'd you have to sneak up on us like that?”  


“We got here as soon as possible, because we wanted you and Barton in one piece,” Bruce said, grinning at Natasha, who bowed regally.  


“I've done the idiots no harm,” she smirked.  


“Genius!” Tony complained. “Genius, not an idiot. How'd you find us?”  


“Sonic,” the Doctor said, holding up his sonic screwdriver, and Bruce's phone.  


“Ri-ight...”  


“Doc-tor!” K9 wheeled around to face him  


“K9!” The Doctor beamed. “Where'd you come from?”  


“Through a rip in time, Doctor. The seams are coming undone. “  


Bruce tapped Natasha, and she looked over his shoulder at the cell phone screen. “Doctor?” she said. “Most of the buildings that fell on New York, as well as Stark Tower, and a ton of apartment buildings have disappeared.”  


“What??” Tony shouted. “My tower—”  


“There's been no report of them appearing elsewhere,” Bruce added.  


“So they managed to land in an unpopulated area without anyone noticing?” John asked.  


“Or, we're onto stage deletion-from-existence,” the Doctor muttered.  


“What?” Steve spluttered.  


“What?” The Doctor looked at them innocently. “What are we talking about?”  


“Hah, nice try, Doc,” Tony said. “You said deletion from existence.”  


“Yes... Well, you see,” the Doctor wrung his hands nervously, “anyone who gets eaten by the crack in time will never have existed.” Bruce's skin had begun to take on a green tint, and Natasha put a hand on his arm. Steve didn't look any happier. The Doctor looked at Tony. “Hey, uh, steel man, you remember when we made the cyber dog? No? Well, this time, we might need something a little more substantial. Have you heard of Pandora's box?”  


“It's a fairy tale.”  


“But the Pandorica isn't. It's a box that has to survive the destruction of the universe itself to provide matter to be cloned, in order to recreate it. Though, I mean, we've caught this one a little earlier than last time,” he added, noting their dismayed faces. It didn't seem to help.  


“Last time?” Natasha hissed.  


“If we can find the centre of these cracks, we can perhaps replicate a good enough Pandorica to fix this. Then, whatever effects the crack causes will be undone when we put the Pandorica through the crack.”  


“So we're shoving our hands up the universe's crack to deposit this box-thing,” Tony said, and Bruce rolled his eyes, though he looked a little calmer. “Do we get gloves? Hand-sanitizer?”  


“You can just use your suit,” Natasha shot.  


“We'll have deadlocks,” the Doctor cut over Tony's retort, “and time stops, matter lines, and a restoration field. No, forget the restoration field. But we should be well prepared.”  


Bruce raised his hand. “I'm fairly sure none of what you just mentioned exists. Deadlocks, sure. But the rest is fantasy, not science.”  


The Doctor pointed at Steve. “You survived 65 years frozen in ice, didn't age, and stayed alive. Don't you believe that biology isn't the only force capable of that?” He turned back to the rest of the group. “And you've already been transported to a parallel universe.”  


Steve frowned. “Well...”  


“Wait, parallel universe?” Tony spluttered.  


“If only Sherlock was here,” John muttered.  


“Wasn't he the one who went off with Harkness?” Clint asked.  


“Went off with...” John threw up his hands in exasperation.  


“Jack Harkness is here?” the Doctor asked, straightening up. “That's the man I need. Him and his ridiculous gadgets. Where is he?”  


Clint shrugged. “I think he went time-travelling, or something.”  


“Of course, the vortex manipulator!” the Doctor exclaimed. “That would be a start.”  


“Sorry, how does time travel help? I thought the whole universe was going to be destroyed,” Natasha said.  


“We're not quite at universal destruction yet, it hasn't been that long. I think the cracks only started a few days ago, and last time, it was years before it reached, erm, critical mass, as they say.”  


John sighed. “Then why do you still look so worried?”  


“Isn't this reason enough for worry?” the Doctor attempted.  


“I don't know, is it?” John retorted.  


“Well, last time... Last time it also wasn't throwing buildings around.”  


Tony smacked his head against his palm. “So it's bigger and faster the second time. That's just great. If this happens a third time, will earth be gone in an hour? Two?”  


“It shouldn't have happened at all!” the Doctor snapped.  


Steve held up his hands placatingly. “Guys.”  


“Cap'n?” Clint threw a careless salute.  


Steve ignored him. “Plan of action: We gather up whatever materials we can get our hands on, find Harkness, make the Pandorica. John, is there a lab near here?”  


John nodded. “St. Bart's is a few blocks down.”  


“Take Tony, Bruce, and the Doctor. Tony, send up a flare when you get there. You can start looking at ways of making this 'Pandorica'. Natasha and Clint, you're with me. We're going to try and find Captain Jack, and keep an eye out for Thor and the Tardis.”  


“And I?” K9's ears swivelled toward Steve.  


“Uh...”  


“You want to come with us, K9?” the Doctor asked.  


“Certainly, Doctor.”  


“Ok,” Steve said.  


“Cap.” Bruce tossed his phone to Steve. “Keep in touch.”  


Steve nodded. “Updates every ten minutes, you hear?”  


John smiled wryly. “I'll phone you if the engineers here are too caught up in their work.”  


“Thank you,” Steve smiled in reply. “Stay with your group, understood?”  


They all nodded.  


“If the cracks take anyone, you won't remember they existed,” the Doctor reminded them.  


Steve grimaced. “Just focus on the possible. Ok? Then—”  


“Move!” Clint shouted. There was a loud creak, and the building directly in front of them started to topple.  


“No!” Tony leapt to the air, and shoved his palms against the building, his propulsors at full blast.  


“Tony!” Steve yelled as he leapt out of the way. “Get out of there!”  


Tony pressed his shoulder against the building in one final effort, then let go. It crashed to the ground, and he scraped the concrete as he twisted out of the way, the falling structure narrowly missing his feet.  


“There's a chunk missing,” Clint called, already perched at the base of the up-ended building.  


“It took a piece of the structure,” Bruce murmured.  


“Dammit,” John spat.  


“Forget vanishing from existence,” Tony said dryly, “we might just die anyway.”  


“Better to have lived, and loved, and died,” the Doctor said, his voice unexpectedly harsh, and they fell silent. “Better to be kept in the memory of those who love you, than to never have existed at all.”  


Even Tony didn't have a smart come-back to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're [almost] all together again, we're here, we're here...
> 
> I friend-ship John and Steve so much. Like, they would get mad at each other, because Steve sticks by his traditional values, and John can be a jerk, but they would balance each other out, I think.


	6. What Are You Prepared To Do?

“Let me get this straight,” Jack said, staring at Thor. “You talked the Tardis into taking off.” 

“She asked me if I wished to travel with her. I accepted,” Thor replied, closing the blue doors behind them as they stepped inside. 

Jack frowned. “She asked you?” 

Thor nodded. 

“How do you know what she, er, said, for lack of a better word?” 

“Allspeak!” Thor grinned. “It is the capacity to understand and speak all languages. It is a most useful skill for a Norse god.” 

“And after eleven incarnations of experienced Tardis pilots trying their best not to crash it, the big guy didn't have to do a thing,” Jack muttered. No one replied, and he glanced over at Sherlock, bent over the Tardis control panel. “What are you doing?” Jack peered over his shoulder. “Hey, don't take it apart!” 

Sherlock ignored him, and Thor held out a restraining hand. “She does not mind. Sherlock has barely scratched the surface of her consciousness.” 

“Right...” Jack scratched his head. “Where does she want to go next?” 

Thor's eyes flicked up to the light coming from the cylindrical core. “She wishes to retrieve her Doctor.” 

“Alright... Well, tell her to fire away, I guess.” 

Thor laughed, a booming laugh that shook the whole room. “She does not require me to translate what you say.” 

Jack leaned against the metal panelling, and whistled. “She's been running the show, huh? No wonder she let Thor go for a ride. She's been listening to us the whole time. She was just waiting for someone to return the courtesy.” 

Sherlock looked up from the panel. “The wiring is fed directly into a living core. That's impossible.” 

“Don't look at me,” Jack shrugged, “the Doctor could tell me the Tardis's core is actually a space-cow's gut, and I'd have to believe him. I know shit-all about this thing. I mean, except a couple things. Non-biological things. I'm not a scientist. Not a good one. I'm not even a very good time-traveller.” 

“You're blabbering,” Sherlock said under his breath. 

“My company and I encountered another creature of the like,” Thor said. “In that it was a mix of living and man-made matter,” he amended, looking apologetically at the centre of the Tardis. 

“Yeah? Big tin can on wheels, or—” 

“It resembled a metal-plated human being.” 

“Cyberman,” Jack said automatically. 

“That is what the Doctor called it.” 

Sherlock was now tapping at the screen above the console. “Cybermen,” he said, indicating the diagram on-screen. “Human matter adapted for maximal incorporation into engineered enhancements.” He frowned, and enlarged the screen. “They have an adjustment which allows them to close off their emotional circuitry.” 

Jack nodded. “That's what makes them Cybermen, and not just enhanced humans. But it also makes them weak, and when the Doctor reversed it, he wiped them out. Their brains couldn't take such intense emotion, after being deprived of it for so long.” 

“Their salvation was their destruction,” Sherlock murmured, and Jack glanced at him. 

“I guess?” 

Sherlock shook his head cautiously, as if he had water in his ear. “Where is the Doctor?” 

Thor laughed. “A few hundred metres from where she left him, she says.” 

“Alright,” Jack said, “back to London, then.” 

Thor shook his head. “She says we have somewhere else to stop first.” 

“There.” They looked around to see Sherlock pointing at a blinking dot on the screen. “Life-form.” 

“Take us over,” Jack said, and the Tardis began to whir, the plunger going up and down, lights flashing. Sherlock leapt down the steps, and, below the console, dashed around the tiny space, poking and prodding the wiring. “Fascinating. Fantastic!” he exclaimed. The Tardis landed with a loud thud, and he rejoined them as the creaking noise quieted. Jack strode to the door, closely followed by Thor, He flung the doors open, and peered outside. 

A slim figure with a mess of curly hair turned toward them, hand on the gun at her hip. Her mouth tugged into a smirk. “Hello, boys.” 

Jack grinned. “Hello, River.” 

* * *

“Clint?” Natasha perched on the top of a parked car. 

“Over here.” Clint leapt to the ground. “What is it?” 

“Sorry.” Natasha shook her head. “It just suddenly felt really quiet.” 

“Hey, it's ok.” Clint touched her shoulder gently. 

Steve held up a hand. “No, she's right, it is quiet. Too quiet.” He glanced up and down the street anxiously, and Natasha fiddled with the straps on her gun. Since they'd parted ways with the others, they had started to notice flickering tendrils of white light that licked at whatever was closest. Now that she thought about it, Natasha couldn't remember what exactly had disappeared. She just had a nagging feeling that something was missing. 

“The Doctor said the cracks would delete everything it touched from existence,” Steve finally said. 

Clint tipped his head to one side. “So...” 

“I think the centre will be the quietest area. It's contrary to everything we've ever encountered,” Steve admitted, “but so is this. I think it's our best bet.” 

“Alright.” Natasha nodded. They reached the end of the street, and she looked back at Steve. “Shall we split up?” she asked. 

Steve peered to the left and right. “I guess,” he said reluctantly. “You two go to the right,” he commanded, “I'll go left. Send up an arrow if you see something,” he said to Clint, who nodded. 

Natasha and Clint jogged down the empty road, peering down the side streets as they went, listening intently. “I don't like this,” Natasha finally said. 

“Cap'll be fine,” Clint offered. 

“No,” she snapped. “It's getting louder.” They stopped. Down the street, an old man exited one of the flat-buildings, then turned to stare at the pair clad in tight, dark-coloured suits, Clint with bow in hand. 

Natasha turned and started to run back. 

“Natasha,” Clint started, when there was a faint sound from the direction they left. A yell. “Shit,” he muttered, running after her. 

They ran, past towering apartment blocks and squat cafés. They had just passed where they had started from when Natasha pointed at the sky silently. The clouds were lit up with white light, and there were tendrils reaching over the tops of buildings. Higher and higher. 

They rounded another corner. “Stop!” It was Steve. “Don't come any closer,” he commanded. They slowed cautiously. There was a clearing, a patch of scorched earth amid the broken paving. Above it, a huge crack, seemingly in the air itself, an inverted, jagged mouth, feeding on the landscape with probing tendrils. And Steve, standing near the edge, wrapped in white light— 

“Get out of there!” Natasha said fiercely, taking a step closer. 

“Natasha,” Steve warned. He moved his hand, watching as the tendrils of light wound around his arms. “Get back to the Doctor. Tell him what happened. You can fix this.” 

“We're not leaving you,” Clint said bluntly. “Not a chance.” 

“You'd rather destroy the whole universe, is that what you're saying? Don't be a fool.” 

Clint nodded curtly, and gently pulled Natasha back. “We'll be back,” he promised. 

Steve smiled sadly. “Don't forget me.” 

“Don't think you can just disappear!” Clint shouted, as they ran back the way they came. He heard Steve laugh quietly. “You can't get out of this so easily!” 

They ran faster and faster, an increasing sense of urgency gripping them. Natasha cleared a traffic barrier, her heart pounding. They had to get back. Faster. They had to— 

There was a familiar sound, a creaking, squealing sound that ended in a sonorous thump. “Wait.” She skidded to a stop, and noticed a blue police box sitting in the middle of the road. “The Tardis,” she said, running toward it. 

“What?” Clint followed. “What the hell—” 

The door opened, and Thor leapt out. “Where are the others?” he demanded. 

“Back at the lab,” Natasha answered, as Clint gaped at the interior. 

“It's bigger on the inside. It's bigger on the fucking inside.” 

“Is it?” Natasha asked disinterestedly. She stepped inside, and glanced at the three people standing there. “I don't know who you are, but I assume we're after the same thing.” 

The man in the long grey coat waved cheerfully. “Captain Jack Harkness, ma'am. You must be Natasha.” He closed the door behind Clint, who nodded to Jack. 

The woman with the curly blond hair glanced at Natasha. “River Song,” she said, “and Sherlock Holmes,” she added, pointing to the man on his back, under the glass floor. “Take it away, my dear,” she said to no one in particular, patting the console. At once, the same noise as before arose, the clattering din filling up the large room. 

Clint stood next to Jack, peering at the screen above the console. “No, not there...Yeah, that's it.” A shuddering groan, a thump, and the Tardis stopped moving. 

“Is that it?” Natasha asked. 

“Not so easily impressed,” River chuckled. “I like you. Move out.” 

They stepped out of the Tardis, and found themselves in the waiting area of a hospital. 

“Room twelve, I'd say,” Natasha said, pointing at the huge twelve roughly carved into the floor by what might have been a blowtorch, but was probably created by one of Tony's flight stabilizers. 

They jogged down the tight hallway. Ahead, light spilled out of a doorway, and they stopped at the door. Inside, Tony, Bruce, and the Doctor stood huddled around a large lab table covered with what looked like a pile of various pieces of medical equipment. K9 zoomed around their legs, carrying pieces on his back, to and from the table. 

John stood off to the side, nervously playing with Tony's phone. He looked up, saw the group by the door, and let out a strangled laugh. “Thank God.” 

The Doctor looked up as they slipped into the room. “Jack! Thor, you're back too, very good.” 

Tony and Bruce looked up to see Natasha and Clint heading over to them. “Hope you didn't blow anything up while I was gone,” Clint joked. 

“River! Nice of you to join us.” The Doctor beamed. 

“Couldn't let you have all the fun.” 

Sherlock gave a brisk nod to John, who laughed quietly. “Hello to you too.” 

“Where is the Captain?” The room fell silent as Thor's voice cut through the noise. 

“What's he talking about?” Natasha asked, concern in her voice. 

“Where is Steve?” he boomed, louder. 

“Hey, calm down, big guy, and tell us what you're talking about,” Tony said, looking slightly alarmed. 

“Shit,” Jack muttered, exchanging a look with the Doctor. 

“You left him behind!” he thundered, grabbing Clint by the collar. 

“Thor, honestly, I don't know what you're talking about!” Clint panicked. 

“Put him down,” River said gently. Thor met her eyes angrily, but did as she said. 

The Doctor glanced at John, who looked just as confused as the rest of them. “Come here Thor. Tony, fill the others in on what we're doing, ok?” 

“Who was Steve?” he heard River murmur to Jack. 

The Doctor gestured to Thor, who followed obediently. 

“You remember, Doctor?” Thor asked as soon as they left the room. 

“Yes, I remember. Time travellers have a bit of an immunity, and on the Tardis, I travel through time a lot. So do Jack and River. I guess Norse gods have something of the like too,” he said, watching Thor carefully. 

“Steve is gone,” Thor said forlornly. 

“Now, he never existed in the first place,” the Doctor said, “if that makes any sense. But if we can make a replica of the Pandorica, we can fix it. We can fix everything.” 

Thor raised his head. “We will,” he said, his eyes flaring up. “I will not forget this, Doctor.” 

“Sorry,” the Doctor said gently, “you will. Once the universe reboots, you won't remember any of this. None of this will have happened, we'll never have met.” 

Thor tightened his grip on the great hammer. “It is unjust. You will be alone, Doctor.” 

“Nah,” the Doctor said. “I can always pop in and see the Ponds, or River, or Jack.” 

“But you will not.” 

The Doctor met his gaze. “No,” he admitted. 

“I am sorry.” 

“That's all right,” the Doctor replied, patting his arm. “I've always got my Tardis.” 

There was a shout from inside. “Doctor?” Jack called. 

“Coming!” The Doctor stood, and glanced back at Thor. “You're never alone, my friend. No matter how many humans pass on before you, there will always be someone. Remember that.” 

Thor stood, and nodded. “You are wise, Doctor.” 

“Comes with age, I guess. Coming?” 

They walked back into the room, Thor's face tightly controlled as the other Avengers watched him with concern. 

“We've found a solution for the matter lines,” Jack said, turning his attention back to the table. “Once I explained the concept, Sherlock had a great idea for that. And Bruce and Tony have sketched some concepts for time stops. But—” he looked at the Doctor evenly, “nothing near strong enough.” 

Tony looked up from the piece of scanning equipment he was tinkering with. “How much more do we need?” he asked. 

“Too much,” the Doctor replied. “I...” he fiddled with his sonic screwdriver. “I was a little optimistic from the start. I didn't want to give up, but I'm not sure it's actually possible.” 

“You lied,” Bruce said quietly. 

“I left out some of the truth,” the Doctor said obstinately. “Need-to-know basis, isn't that what your kind like to say?” 

“That's something we needed to know!” Clint shot. “Like, 'Hey, guys, just so you know, all this stuff you're working on? It might not actually work. In fact, I really think it won't.'” 

“Woah, woah,” Jack raised his hands, “the Doctor's doing his best, here—” 

“And it's not enough,” Natasha said flatly. “You've gotten us involved in your fight, now get us out of this mess.” 

“I'm trying,” the Doctor snapped. “I just need some time.” 

River stepped beside him, and whispered something in his ear. 

“Oh,” he said, “oh!” 

“Please tell me that's an exclamation of 'I think I know how we can save the universe',” John said. 

“Yes,” the Doctor mused. “Well, River does, anyway. The Tardis is here?” 

“In the waiting room, waiting to be remembered,” River teased. 

“Right.” The Doctor rubbed his hands together. “Chuck all that onto a cart and let's go.” 

“Bet you five of the highest currency you've got on you that even one of these big-shots will say the same as always,” River whispered to Jack. 

“Done,” he laughed. “They're a bunch of superheroes, River. Easiest money I've made.” 

They went back down the hall to where the Tardis stood, tall blue box in the stark white room, the whirling light nearly touching the low ceiling. 

“Nice ride,” Tony said grudgingly, glancing at the high, arched ceiling as they filed in, and gathered around the Tardis console. 

“Sure, but it's a lot smaller on the outside,” Bruce said, smirking, and Tony chuckled. 

River held out a hand to Jack. “That doesn't count!” he protested. 

“Just a reversal of the wording,” she said, and he handed over five tiny gold coins, grumbling. 

“So, what's the plan?” Clint asked, eyeing the flashing console with anticipation. 

“The Tardis was originally built as a kind of battleship,” the Doctor said. “She's been attacked by Cybermen and Daleks, and all the hoards of Genghis Khan. Took a little damage, but none of those lot could get inside. Plus, she already has... stuff, for travelling through time. Of course, she can't survive the universe's destruction.” 

“But it's fairly small, you said,” John added. 

“Yes. If we could just find a way of creating the matter lines, maybe enhancing some other things, then we have a chance. Are we good?” 

“A chance isn't much,” Natasha said. 

“Better than nothing,” John replied. 

The Doctor beamed. “Well said, John! Well? Tony, Bruce, you want to explain what you two have done so far?” 

They did, showing the sketches, adding and fixing as they went, interrupting each other, Sherlock interrupting when he saw faults, the Doctor jumping in when Tony started to add unnecessary elements. Slowly, a heap of metal grew from the underside of the console, attached itself to the sides, the top, shaped by the group's expert hands. 

“It's a pity we won't be seeing each other again, after this,” the Doctor said, as he stretched a long piece of flexible metal between two thick screws. “It's been fun.” 

“I enjoyed it,” Bruce agreed. 

Tony slapped Jack's hand away from a rusted cog, hanging from a bundle of green twisted cord. “Don't touch that.” 

“It's not doing anything,” Jack protested. 

“I won't miss that one,” Tony chuckled. Sherlock tossed a screwdriver at Tony's head, and he caught it deftly in one hand. “Oi!” he said, but he grinned, and Sherlock narrowed his eyes with a smirk. 

John watched as Sherlock bent down to fix the edge of a set of interconnecting plates to twist inward on each other. “Screw?” Sherlock held out a hand. 

John rolled his eyes, and grabbed one from the dwindling pile. “You have hands,” he reminded him as he handed it to Sherlock. 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Why, yes, John, excellent observation. Grab me a bulb, will you?” 

John rummaged through the pile, but found nothing. “Great,” he muttered, and opened the Tardis door as Bruce bent down to attach a long cable to the contraption. 

“No, you can’t do it like that!” Sherlock grabbed it from Bruce’s hands as John slipped away to find a light bulb, of all things. 

K9 watched the door close. “Doctor?” 

“Not now, K9.” 

“Doctor.” River pointed at the entwined metal bands twisted around a long pipe Jack was fiddling with. “Sonic.” 

The Doctor pulled out his screwdriver, and turned in the edges, which tightened around the pipe. He stepped back, and looked over their work. 

“Thor?” The big man stooped to look at what the Doctor was pointing at. “Push those ends together, will you?” Thor nodded, and flexed his fingers. After settling down his hammer, he took the metal in his hands, and slowly, with a protesting creak, the ends bent toward each other, and touched. 

Tony wiped a hand across his brow. “Remind me why we decided to fix this to the console?” 

“Weakest spot,” the Doctor replied. 

“Like that answers my question,” Tony muttered. 

Sherlock tossed a dirty rag over his shoulder. “Escaping matter will surge toward the weakest area. However, the Tardis's core is extremely powerful. It will absorb the matter, and using the reflectors, magnify it to a point where the energy itself is enough to keep a matter line solid for the minimum time the universe requires to 'reboot', as the Doctor calls it.” 

Tony shrugged. “I just think it's a little risky, that's all.” 

“It's a good design, and you know it, Stark,” Natasha scoffed, “you have that three-year-old-in-a-candy-shop look about you again.” 

Tony stuck his tongue out at her. 

Sherlock looked up from his work, and frowned. “Where’s John?” 

“He has been absent from the Tardis for fifty-four point three five seconds,” K9 intoned. 

The Doctor looked up in alarm. “No one should be wandering off right now,” he said. 

“We’ve got this,” Tony said, and Sherlock stood up, brushing his hands on his coat. 

Outside, the hall was quiet. Of course John had to wander off, right when it was getting interesting. Why had he left in the first place? Sherlock vaguely remembered asking for something… a light bulb. It wasn’t even that important. And of course John took it into his head to go off and find one. Idiot. 

He listened intently. The silence had grown heavier, and if matter was disappearing as the Doctor said, sound would disappear too. He quickened his pace, unsure of what he was looking for. Then, bright white light, reflecting off an open door. 

“Finally,” he muttered, and strode toward the room. 

And stopped. 

Bright white light. Of course. Stupid, he was getting stupid. Not the light of a lamp, that was the light of a crack. Though perhaps it was fortunate. Or not so fortunate. His thoughts began to be less coherent than he liked. 

John turned slowly to face him, his face framed by tendrils of light. “Sorry.” 

“John,” Sherlock said, his voice low. How was he supposed to get him out? 

“Can’t,” John said, as if in answer to Sherlock's silent query. He shifted a foot, and the tendrils twisted tighter. “Looks like I’ll be leaving the rest of this to you,” he said with a brave smile. 

Sherlock looked around the room frantically. Some way of extracting him. 

“It’s no use.” John watched him, almost amused. His body became more and more encased in the light, and Sherlock watched, helpless, for the first time in his life, as he began to disappear. John raised a hand to Sherlock. “Goodbye, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock’s own hand lifted without conscious thought, and no, he was not, there was nothing he could, nothing to, nothing— 

* * *

Sherlock slipped into the Tardis, and Bruce glanced up. “You alright, Sherlock?” 

Sherlock nodded slowly. 

“What’s that?” 

Sherlock looked down at his hands. At the object in his hands. A cane. 

“I don’t know.” He thrust it away, suddenly, and the Doctor looked up as he heard the clatter on the metal grated floor. 

“Hey, Sherlock, did you find—” the Doctor stopped, noticing the cane on the floor. Sherlock, standing alone. 

“Shit.” Jack watched Sherlock as he blinked, looking confused. 

“Are we about ready?” Sherlock asked, trying to focus on the mess of metal parts. 

“Almost,” the Doctor said, patting him tentatively on the back. 

Sherlock shook him off, and his face became composed once more as he bent down to examine a loose piece of the contraption. 

The Doctor watched him for a moment, unsure of what to do. 

“Doctor,” Jack pulled down the monitor. “It's getting closer.” 

Bruce stepped back from the metal plating. “So, what, are we just going to fly this thing into the huge crack Natasha and Hawkeye found?” 

“What?” The Doctor started. “No,” he said firmly. “Whatever goes in will be used for the matter cloning. But whatever goes in will also not appear in the new universe.” 

They fell silent. 

“So I take it I get that job,” Tony said dryly. 

“No,” the Doctor said. “I've done it before, I'll do it this time. No one else is going to die. Not today.” 

“Doctor—” River started. 

“I have to,” he said. “The universe is more important than I am.” 

“I've chosen you over the universe before,” she muttered. 

“It's getting bigger,” Jack warned the Doctor. 

“Natasha? Clint?” The Doctor turned, and Clint sighed and went back over to Jack, and started murmuring instructions. 

The Tardis started whirring again, this time more urgently than before. When it landed with a thump, the group fell silent, and looked to the Doctor. 

“The crack is over there,” he said, pointing to the white mess on the screen. “I want you all to leave that way,” he pointed to the left. 

“So we're just going to stand there while you heroically drive the Tardis into this crack, saving all of the universe single-handedly,” Tony said, crossing his arms. 

“Not single-handedly. I had help from all of you.” He looked around him. “Believe me when I say I couldn't have done it without you.” 

“Too right you couldn't,” Clint snorted. “You can't even keep track of your spaceship! You owe Thor for bringing it back.” 

“It wouldn't have left if Thor hadn't taken it!” the Doctor protested. 

“Stealing is dishonourable; I did no such thing. Your Tardis brought me,” Thor said. 

“Not very loyal, is she?” Jack smirked. 

“Come on, I was trying to have a moment here,” the Doctor protested. 

“Not likely with this group,” Natasha said. 

They fell silent. 

“It was good working with you.” Bruce smiled sadly. 

Jack nodded. “You're a good lot.” 

“Better hope that Fury doesn't come after you with the Avengers initiative on his tongue,” Clint joked. 

Sherlock chuckled dryly, and Tony glanced at him inquisitively. “I met him, briefly. He thinks very highly of himself, but more highly of you.” 

The Doctor cleared his throat. “Thanks, all of you, really. I don't know what I would have done without you.” 

Tony clapped him on the back. “Probably would have died a painful death with the rest of the universe!” 

“And, with that, the moment is over,” Natasha observed. 

“Well? Shall we?” the Doctor asked. 

Tony looked around at the group. “Either that, or let my creation die untested. Not damn likely!” 

“Your creation?” Bruce scoffed as they walked to the door. “Always the egotist.” 

Outside, the silence pressed upon their ears. The Doctor watched them out, standing a little away from the door. “Well, erm, so long, I guess.” 

“Farewell, good Doctor,” Thor boomed. “May thy travels be swift.” 

“Thank you,” he replied, looking up at the swirling mass. “Better make it quick.” He turned to the Tardis just as the door banged shut. “What?” He ran to the door. “What are you doing?” 

Jack looked around. “River.” 

“No, no, no!” The Doctor hit his fist against the door. “Don't do this! This isn't your time to die!” 

“I told you,” River called from inside, “I've chosen you over the universe before. You think I would just let you sacrifice yourself without my say?” 

“River Song!” the Doctor yelled as the Tardis began to dematerialize. 

“See you later, sweetie.” 

But as the blue police box became more and more transparent, something changed. There was a figure visible inside, a figure becoming more and more visible the more the Tardis disappeared. 

“What's happening?” 

The Tardis disappeared entirely, leaving River Song standing where it had just been. “What happened?” she demanded. “I took off!” 

The Doctor stared, perplexed. “I don't know.” 

“Behold!” Thor pointed to the sky. Above them, a speck in the sky was growing, becoming bigger, bluer... 

“No,” the Doctor breathed. 

The Tardis flew closer and closer. 

“It's piloting itself!” Clint exclaimed. 

“She left me behind,” River breathed. 

The sound of the approaching Tardis became louder and louder, a roar of wind that drowned out their voices. 

“She sacrifices herself to save the universe,” Thor shouted. 

The blue box hurtled out of the sky, and crashed into the ball of light. 

A huge explosion. 

Then, even the silence disappeared into the void.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But before we even get the time to say a simple "hello", you're off again, saving the world, no worse for the wear (or so you'd have us believe).


	7. Must It Always End This Way?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And before we've even gotten to know each other, it's all over again.

Tony opened his eyes. Bright light and loud noises assaulted his senses. “How much did I drink?” he moaned, shielding his face with his hands. 

“Too much,” Thor said, lifting him to his feet. 

He opened his eyes to see the interior of his workshop shining back at him. 

Wait. “What are you doing here?” 

“You called us ten hours ago,” Natasha said, and Tony turned to see her lounging on his workbench. “You said you wanted thirty orders of wings and ten cases of beer.” 

“We got ten and five,” Bruce said. 

“And then you pulled another five cases out of the arms cupboard,” Coulson sighed. 

“Oh, right!” Tony sat up. “And then we sat around and got drunk all evening.” He sighed. “Good times.” 

“You need to drink a little less, though.” Steve stepped into the room. 

“Hey, Cap!” Tony said, feeling oddly relieved. “Where've you been?” 

“I just said I'd go make omelettes,” Steve said, giving him a strange look. “I thought we might want breakfast, and you clearly need some food in you.” 

“Oh,” he said, trying to convince himself that Thor wasn't looking at Steve as if he was relieved as well. He looked up at the ceiling, and nearly fell over again. “Holy shit, Barton, do you want to give me a heart-attack?” 

Clint grinned, and swung down from the ceiling. “Sorry, Stark, you just have these fantastic beams in your walls that make for great perches.” 

“Great,” he groaned. “Just don't build a nest up there, ok?” He turned back to the group, then looked at the empty glass in his hand. “More beer?” 

“How about some Kool-Aid,” Steve said, taking the dirty glass from him. 

“But I want beer,” Tony whined. 

“Three-year-olds aren't allowed alcoholic drinks,” Bruce smirked. 

“Yeah, well... I can make better AIs than you!” 

“That reminds me,” Clint said, pointing to a partly-completed robot on the floor, “what the hell is that supposed to be?” 

Tony bent over it, and flicked at a wire. “Well, shit, I think it's a robot dog!” 

“Oh!” Clint raised a hand. “Can you make it fetch arrows?” 

“Sure, man,” Tony laughed. “I'm on top of the world. Anyone have a pencil?” 

* * *

“John.” 

John rolled over, muttering. “Five more minutes.” 

“John,” the voice came again, more urgently. 

John opened one eye, and Sherlock's face came into focus. “What?” he muttered. There was something in Sherlock’s face, some emotion he couldn’t put his finger on. He blinked hard, once, twice, but it was gone, it was just Sherlock, still in his dressing gown, and the smell of— “Tea?” He sat up, and wrinkled his nose at the overturned teacup lying on the arm of his chair. “Did you make—” 

“Mrs. Hudson made it.” Sherlock peered at him attentively. 

“Oh. Right. Like you would have.” He blinked again, realizing he was sitting on the floor. “What happened?” 

“You passed out.” Sherlock was up, now, then perched on his chair, fiddling with some small contraption. 

John stood up. “Right… Where’s my—” Sherlock kicked his cane toward him across the rug, and he scooped it up. “What was it doing by your chair?” 

“I expect you left it there,” Sherlock said dryly, though he avoided John’s eyes as he strode to the door. 

“Sherlock?” John tipped his head to one side. 

“Lestrade called, but it’s nothing urgent. Hungry?” 

“A bit, I guess. I don’t think we have anything, though.” 

“What?” Sherlock turned to face him, scarf in hand. “Don’t be absurd. I thought we might go out and get something.” 

“Oh? What’s the occasion?” 

“Does there have to be one?” Sherlock pulled on his coat, and John laughed. 

“I suppose not. You’re not going to get dressed?” 

Sherlock looked down at the dressing gown, hanging out from under his long coat. “Is it necessary?” 

John snorted. “You look ridiculous.” 

“Alright.” Sherlock strode away, and John stared after him. 

“You’re in a very strange mood,” he called, and he heard Sherlock laugh. 

“Problem?” 

“I guess not,” John said, and he smiled at lightening sky. 

* * *

On a dark, quiet street, a man lay stretched across the road, muttering incoherently. He snorted, then appeared to wake up. He sat up. 

“Still alive. Love it when that happens.” 

The Doctor got to his feet, and looked around. 

“Still alone. Well, you can't have everything, I guess.” 

He stood still, watching the flickering lamplight. 

“Nineteenth century England, if I'm not mistaken,” he said to no one in particular. 

After a moment, he heaved a sigh, and began walking down the cobblestone road, then stopped. There was a faraway noise, a sort of whirring, creaking sound, that got louder and louder. He turned, and on the pavement behind him, there was a blue police box that hadn't been there before. 

“Hello.” 

He walked up to it, and placed a palm against one of the wooden panels, then pressed his ear to the door. After a moment, he straightened again, and chuckled. 

“Of course not, my dear,” he murmured. “How could I ever forget you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the end of our grand Whoavengelock adventure. 
> 
> ...Is now a good time to tell you I typed this up almost entirely on my phone, using only its note function, on a trip, in about two and a half days? (And I ran out of space on my phone 1000 words from the end; luckily, we were almost home).
> 
> If you liked this, you might want to read my Whoavengelock series, which I'll be putting up here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/27756/

**Author's Note:**

> please _don't give me crit_ , constructive or not, even if you feel the need to point out a typo, i would appreciate it if you didn't. i do this for fun, and once i've posted something, i don't really want to think about it critically anymore. thanks.


End file.
